


What Little Boys Are Made Of

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-03
Updated: 2006-03-02
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: (01/06/2003)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This was the first fanfic I posted on ff.net back in June 2002. It deals with how Archer and Trip come to realize their love for each other could include physical feelings. Hope it's not too tame.  


* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer sat, somewhat reclined, in the chair at his desk. The ready room's limited space was usually manageable, but seemed more confining on this day. He stared at the blank viewscreen from his desktop terminal.

It had only been two days since the Enterprise crew had made contact with the Montelosians via the viewscreen and audio communication. The minshara class planet was post-warp and had hailed the ship when they were in orbit only a few minutes.

Robann, the governor of sorts of the region in the northern hemisphere, was a very obliging male. His smile was genuine as it spread across his light orange colored face. It made the ridges in his forehead seem softer and his violet eyes exude warmth.

The captain eagerly accepted Robann's invitation to dine with him and the council of his village that evening. He had picked his chief engineer and best friend, Trip Tucker, Sub Commander T'Pol and Ensign Hoshi Sato. It had all seemed so wonderous and exciting. Then what in the hell went wrong?

The landing party had all been invited to come back the following morning for tours. The captain and T'Pol were taken to the council chambers and informed about how the governing body functioned. Hoshi was taken to a primary school and a higher studies' university. Trip had been taken on a tour of the village power plant and shipyards.

When the crew had regrouped, Archer remembered how he had easily given Trip permission to go back this morning and visit with Ashegan. Trip had been quite taken with her and Archer knew his friend relished the company of a female engineer. As Trip put it, "It's like killin' two birds with one stone." Ashegan took Trip to eat breakfast at a small diner on the edge of the village...and that's when the trouble began.

"Bridge to Captain Archer," Hoshi's com voice broke his thoughts.

"Archer here."

"Captain, it's Commander Tucker."

"Thank you, Hoshi. Send it through, please." Archer took a deep breath as he sat up straight in front of the terminal.

Trip appeared on the console screen, looking tired and sullen. His short cropped blond hair was tossled making him appear so much younger, Archer thought.

"Guess this is my one phone call, Cap'n." Trip offered.

Archer managed a weak smile. "How are you holding up?"

Trip shrugged his shoulders. "Been better, sir."

"What happened?" Archer asked, with confusion in his voice.

"Ah din't like the way that guy was knockin' his kid 'round," Trip replied, his southern drawl more pronounced due to the stress.

"Robann said it took four of their guys to pull you off of him."

"Okay, so ah really din't like the way he knocked his kid 'round."

"Trip," Archer warned, the way he always did prior to pulling rank if he didn't get the response he wanted.

"Look, sir, ah don't have much time," Trip said looking around. "What's done is done. Ah promise ta tell ya everythin' when ah get back."

There was a pause as Archer stared at Trip.

"You know, I'd be there with you if I could. But they banned any more of us from coming down to the surface until further notice."

"Ah know, Cap'n, but they said ah could have someone here when the sentence is carried out. 'Less you'd rather not come..."

"I'll be there," Archer quickly replied.

Robann came into view now, standing next to Trip.

"I'm afraid there won't be time, Captain." Robann placed a hand on Trip's shoulder. "As soon as this communique has ended the sentence will be announced and administered. Mr. Tucker will then be free to rejoin you on your ship."

"I understand, Robann," Archer relented.

Robann gently squeezed Trip's shoulder. "I will remain by his side throughout, Captain."

Archer nodded his thanks, as an audible response was difficult.

"You may have a few more minutes." Robann offered.

"If it's okay," Trip shook his head negatively. "Ah'd just 'soon get this over with, sirs."

"I'll be waiting, Trip." Archer assured.

The screen went blank and Archer's chest heaved the breath he seemed to be holding throughout. His shoulders sagged as he placed his elbows on the desk, running his hands through his hair. Damn! —————

Robann held onto Trip's upper arm as he guided the younger man out of the room. The halls of the dentention facility were stark and a pale, cool, light green. Trip wondered if there was a reason for the color. Was it suppose to be soothing? He let out a low sigh as he thought, it wasn't working.

Here he was, the chief engineer of a starship; an officer in Starfleet, walking the last mile like a common criminal. But that's exactly what he was. He had pleaded guilty. He had done the crime. So, why was he feeling unjustly treated?

They turned the corner and stopped in front of a door where two guards stood on either side. Robann let go of Trip's arm.

"You will want to walk in unassisted?" Robann whispered, questioningly.

Trip slowly nodded his head. He took a deep breath and Robann nodded to one of the guards. The door was opened. —————

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sat alone eating at a corner table in the mess hall. He purposely positioned his back to the room hoping no one would approach him.

"Mr. Reed."

No such luck. Malcolm lifted his head, slightly, to see Doctor Phlox standing before him. The armory officer nodded his acknowledgement toward the empty seat.

"I am glad to see not all of the senior staff are neglectful of their nutritional requirements."

Phlox proceeded to audibly ponder on the dark cloud that had descended upon the ship when the incident planet side involving Trip was made known that morning.

"It is unfortunate," Malcolm remarked coolly. "But Commander Tucker must answer for his actions and he knows that."

"Agreed." Phlox munched on a carrot stick loudly. "But do you not find it hard to believe what he did?"

Malcolm sighed, pushing his tray of half eaten lunch away. "No."

Phlox's brow rose in disbelief. He stared back at the lieutenant expecting him to expound on his answer.

"Doctor," Malcolm leaned in closely. "Mr. Tucker is a hothead. It's not news to anyone aboard this ship. So, it was only a matter of time before he went off."

"But to go off on a total stranger that way," Phlox countered. "There must have been an underlying cause for his behavior."

"He's been brooding ever since the mail from home came four days ago." Malcolm sipped his iced tea. "Perhaps there was some unnerving news from home."

"Uh-huh," Phlox wondered.

Malcolm rose and gathered up his tray. "If you'll excuse me, Doctor."

As Malcolm took his tray to the return and made his way out of the mess hall, he thought over his offer of explanation to Phlox. He knew there had to be a reason for Trip's seemingly unprovoked attack of the patron in the diner that morning. But, whatever the reason, Trip was going to pay the price. Malcolm felt his skin tingle and shuddered at the thought.

* * *

Trip's ears were pounding so loudly that he couldn't hear anything anyone had said after the sentence was pronounced. He felt Robann grab a firm hold of him by the shoulders and realized his knees had buckled.

Why was this happening to him? Why did he attack that man for slapping his son across the face in the diner? It hadn't been a very hard slap and, besides, he knew that what was not acceptable behavior to humans may be very acceptable to others.

Robann led Trip through a door off the sentencing room. Inside that small room was a table with an ominous, metallic device attached to the surface. The contraption was in the shape of a box with two small openings in the side. The table edge had large, thick straps bolted to it. The only chair at the table, likewise, had the same type of straps around the legs and back. Trip's knees began to turn to jelly again, but Robann held on tight.

Out of the corner of his eye Trip saw two Montelosian officials standing against a far wall. Robann leaned in and whispered to the two Montelosian guards that stood on the right side of the table and they backed away slightly.

"Sit down and place your hands flat inside the base of the device," Robann instructed Trip.

Trip swallowed hard and found that his throat was as dry as sandpaper. He did as he was told and Robann nodded to the two guards closest to the table. Methodically and quickly they began to strap Trip's legs and waist to the chair. Robann carefully began to strap Trip's forearms to the table.

As the two guards backed away, Robann leaned down and whispered in to Trip's ear.

"Remember, this room is sound proof. No one but those inside will hear if you cannot contain yourself."

Trip just stared at the device in front of him. This was surreal, he thought. He had been no stranger to getting into trouble. Growing up, he had his share of over the knee spankings from his parents for misbehaving. He even had spent a few hours in the local jail when he was 14 years old. It had been a dare from his buddies and he had painted a rather buxom, naked female on the side of the courthouse. But he had gotten caught and his parents had felt he needed a good scare. So, the Tuckers' said they weren't going to bail him out and he could just spend the night in jail. A few tearful hours later, his parents came to get him and he swore he would never do anything criminal again. He never did. Until now. Trip's mind suddenly turned to memories of his Uncle Chris. His brother's letter a few days ago said his uncle had died. His liver finally had given out and Trip thought it was about time. Serves him right for what he did. Talk about unprovoked attacks. That sure was one hell of one and his uncle never had to answer for it, because no one but the two of them ever knew it happened. Trip never told anyone, as his uncle had warned him not to. Suddenly, Trip realized what he had done in the diner that morning. He had attacked his childhood memory in the form of that alien father. Oh, dear Lord, Trip thought. This all was happening to him because of that damn, son of a bitch! And he had fallen right into it. He was letting his uncle hurt him again, all these years later...

"Ughhhhhh!" The muffled groan escaped through clenched teeth as a growl. Trip closed his eyes tightly and stiffled the scream that was pulsating in the back of his throat. He wasn't going to cry out. He wasn't going to give Uncle Chris the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him again. He could feel the pressure on the backs of his hands and then as it gradually moved down to his fingers. His body stiffened and he felt the sweat beading up on his upper lip and across his face. Just as Trip believed he couldn't stand the pain any longer, blackness overcame him.


	2. Chapter 2

The bridge was not a very loud place, but it was unnervingly quiet at the moment. Sub Commander T'Pol busied herself at her science station while awaiting the first signs of Shuttlepod Two carrying Commander Tucker back. Ensign Hoshi Sato monitored the airwaves for any communication from Trip or the planet's surface. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sat, rigid, and scanned for any signs of assault from the planet they orbitted. He was not about to misjudge these people as genial and passive. They were quite vindictive and harsh when it came to punishing any law breaker, no matter how minor the offense. Even though they knew nothing of the sentence Trip was given, they were informed that it would be severe.

Captain Jonathan Archer hovered over Ensign Travis Mayweather's shoulder.

"How long will it take to get there?" Archer said.

"Two days if we're just cruising. But if you want to make up time, I can get us there in a little over a day, sir." Travis answered.

"That's fine, Travis," Archer responded in monotone.

Travis frowned up in Archer's direction as the captain slowly moved to his command chair and sank into it. Archer hadn't really heard a word of what the ensign had said. Travis knew the captain's thoughts were with Trip. Trip was not only one of his crew, but Archer's best friend. Heck, Trip was like everyone's favorite cousin. They all wanted him back safe and sound, but the young ensign figured not one of them wanted it more than Captain Archer.

"The shuttlepod has left the planet's surface, Captain." T'Pol announced. "It is on automatic controls. Commander Tucker's life signs are erratic."

Archer bolted from his chair and headed toward the lift as he called back, "Have Phlox meet me in launchbay two."

* * *

Archer met Phlox in the corridor and they both hurriedly made their way to the launchbay. Archer punched the controls with the side of his fist and the doors swooshed open.

The shuttlepod sat in the middle of the pad. Archer and Phlox moved to the side and waited a minute for the door to open. When it did not, Archer opened it himself. Phlox stood beside Archer as the latter peeked into the shuttlepod.

"Trip?" Archer quietly called out.

There was no response right away. But then, a few seconds later, there was the shuffling of boots on the floor of the pod. Trip came into view now, holding his hands upturned and curled against his stomach. His eyes were glassy, the lids fluttering heavily and his breathing labored.

"Ah din't even say ouch, Cap'n..." Trip gasped before he dropped to his knees and pitched forward.

* * *

The beeping of the biobed and the soft breathing of the prone figure lying on it were the only sounds in sickbay. Phlox was busy monitoring the readings, so he was unaware of Archer's hand gently brushing back Trip's damp blond bangs. Not that Archer cared at the moment whether the doctor did take notice of the tender moment. Luckily, Trip was asleep or he would be upset at his friend's public show of affection towards him.

This moment was a revelation that Jon had not expected, though. He wasn't about to let anyone interfere. Looking down at the sedated man, he realized now that Trip meant more to him than being his best friend. Even though Jon would never let Trip know it, he thought of the younger man as the little brother he never had. Now he knew why he always felt a bit more protective of his chief engineer than any other member of his crew. Okay, over protective.

"The breaks were very clean, so he should heal perfectly." Phlox finally said, looking up.

Archer snapped his head up. "How long will he sleep?"

"About another two hours."

Archer looked down at Trip, again, seeing the bulky bandages instead of his hands resting on his stomach.

"How long will he have them bandaged?"

Phlox sighed. "At least five days. A week at the most."

Archer moved toward the doors, then turned slowly to face Phlox.

"Doctor?"

"I'll let you know when he wakes up." Phlox gently assured his captain.

Archer nodded and slowly left sickbay.

* * *

* * *

Trip's eyes shot open, blurry at first, then clearing. He was in sickbay. He looked down to see enormous, white claws on his stomach.

"Afternoon, Commander."

Trip turned to his left to see Doctor Phlox standing there.

"How are you feeling?" Phlox asked as he checked the monitors.

Trip looked down at the claws again. It hadn't been a dream. That gall darn metal box had broken his hands and fingers.

Phlox turned his attention to his patient. "Commander, are you in any pain?"

"Where's the Cap'n?" Trip croaked, almost inaudibly.

"He's on his way. You've been coming around for the last ten minutes. How do you feel?" Phlox asked him.

"I had my hands crushed by a hedious lookin' machine. How the hell do ya think I feel?" Trip stared down at the bandages again, but looked past them to see Jonathan Archer standing at the foot of the bed.

"Don't bite the doc's head off. This wasn't his doing." Archer said evenly.

"Yeah, ah know," Trip snapped. "I screwed myself up."

Archer regarded him. "Answer him."

Trip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Hurts like hell."

"I'll get you something for the pain," Phlox said, moving off.

Archer moved around to the side of the bed. Trip opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

"I talked to Robann before we broke orbit," Archer began, trying to keep his voice even. "He said you were very brave."

Trip let out a strangled laugh. "Oh, so that means I made ya proud of me?" The biting sarcasm made him cringe in regret.

"Trip, I haven't made any report about this yet." Archer shifted on his feet. "I haven't even contacted Admiral Forrest. I just don't know what the hell to say."

"Here we are," Phlox returned, holding out a hypospray. "You probably will fall back asleep when this mixes with the after affects of the sedative."

"Not yet," Trip said. "I need to tell you somethin', Cap'n."

"It will be a few minutes before it takes affect, Commander. If you don't finish what you have to say, you can when you wake up." And with that, Phlox placed the hypospray to Trip's neck and the familiar soft swoosh was heard. He patted Trip's shoulder and moved out of the room.

"My brother's letter from home. He wanted to tell me...my Uncle Chris died a week ago." Trip blurted out.

"I'm sorry," Archer said, moving closer.

"I'm not. But maybe that's what this was all about. I don't know."

"Wasn't that your mother's brother?" Archer recollected. "The one you told me you used to spend a few weeks with on his farm every summer?"

"Yeah. Until my aunt died when I was ten." Trip drew in a deep breath, the pain killer starting to work. "To say he didn't handle her death well is an understatement. That year I made my parents let me spend the whole summer with him `cuz I knew he was sad. But he was angry most of the time. He scared me."

"Why didn't you tell your parents to bring you home?"

Trip shook his head, lazily. "I couldn't tell 'em. I didn't want him to get into trouble."

"Trouble?" Archer wasn't sure he was understanding where this was going.

"He drank a lot. I used to run and hide; in the barn or out in the woods. 'Til he passed out." Trip's eyelids started to get heavy, but he fought off the drug. "One time he came after me. I was in the barn, hidin' in a pile of hay. I heard him breathin'. Smelled the booze. He was so mad."

Trip closed his eyes as his breathing became rapid. His jaw clenched as tightly as his eyes and he wasn't sure if it was to fight off the effects of the pain killer, or to keep from losing control.

"Did he hurt you, Trip?" Archer's gentle voice prompted.

"He pulled me out of the hay," Trip began, opening his eyes. "Threw me face down on top of it. And then I felt it."

Archer swallowed hard and fought back the urgency to know from his tone. "Felt what?"

Trip's eyes closed tightly again. "The first sting of his belt."

"He hit you?" Archer asked in disbelief.

Trip nodded his head, slightly. "The more I cried and begged him to stop, the harder he hit me. I guess I passed out. When I woke up, I was in bed. He came in and told me my folks were coming to get me in a few days and to stay out of his way. He said I better not talk about what happened, ever. And I never did. 'Til now."

"So, that's what happened down there on the surface." Archer realized, thinking out loud. "That little boy was you..." Archer's voice trailed off in thought. "Good Lord, Trip. He hit you until you passed out?"

Trip's eyes were misting over and his voice began to crack. "I guess I always hoped there was a chance he'd get in touch with me. Maybe to say he was sorry and even that he loved me. Now, it's gone. I just wanted you to know, sir."

"It was his loss, Trip." Archer consoled, placing his hand on Trip's shoulder. "Go to sleep and we'll talk more later."

"I'm sorry I screwed up, Cap'n. I didn't mean to." Trip couldn't hold on anymore and the tears streamed down his face as he bit his lip to keep the sobs from escaping.

"I know you didn't." Archer reassured him.

"Please, don't let 'em kick me off Enterprise for this..." Trip pleaded, letting the sobs out now.

"Shhh," Archer shook his head, as he placed his hand on Trip's forehead. "I'll take care of everything."

Trip looked up at Jon. This was Jon now, not his captain. It was Jon petting him with slow, gentle strokes. Jon, his best friend for nearly 9 years who's mentoring helped him in his career and personal life. The man who had saved his life many times and chose him for this historic mission. And Trip repaid him by becoming a convicted criminal on an alien world.

"God, I'm so sorry I did this to ya," Trip cried. "Ya always had faith in me..."

"I still do," Archer confirmed. "What happened down there was not your fault, Trip. I'm no psychologist, but what your uncle did to you when you were a kid hurt you a lot deeper and longer than you realized. You just pushed it away until now. Look, close your eyes and go to sleep. That's an order."

Trip's eyes fluttered closed and he let a few sobs escape before he took a deep breath and was sound asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis sat together in the mess hall eating dinner. Most of their conversation had been mere chit chat. They were all beating around the proverbial bush waiting for the other to bring up what was really on their minds.

"Okay, so who knows what really went on down on that planet?" Hoshi finally gave in.

"Well, all I know is what you know. I think." Travis replied.

Both Hoshi and Travis looked to the lieutenant with expectation on their faces.

"Well, don't look here for anything more." Malcolm said, placing a forkful of neatly rounded mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"T'Pol knows more, I'm sure." Hoshi offered.

"Yeah," Travis agreed, draining his glass of iced tea. "That's a given. Anyone want more to drink?"

The other two declined and as Travis made his way to the dispenser, Hoshi leaned in closer to Malcolm. "Think the commander will get tranferred off Enterprise for this?"

"It's certainly a possibility, Hoshi."

"What's a possibility?" Travis asked, sitting back down.

"About Commander Tucker getting booted off this mission." Hoshi sighed.

"I hope not." Travis sighed. "He's done a lot for this ship and this mission. It'd be a real shame."

"But it would be understandable." Malcolm offered.

"From Starfleet's point of view, yeah." Hoshi took the napkin from her lap and folded it on the table.

"Well," Malcolm leaned back in his chair. "Isn't that what always counts in the end?"

* * *

"Jon, I know he'll be all right." Admiral Forrest said. "With Doctor Phlox in charge, I have no doubts that Commander Tucker will get the best care right where he is."

Archer smiled back at the projected image of his superior on his computer terminal. He leaned back in his chair. "Thank you, sir."

"The psychiatric department here at Starfleet Medical is compiling information on Post Traumatic Distress Disorder for the doctor. It should be there by tomorrow." The admiral regarded Archer thoughtfully. "Jon, this isn't over yet, you know."

"Sir, any reprimands or blemishes on his record would only make matters worse." Archer defended.

"Jon, I don't mean Tucker's service record. Hell, that's not even an issue anymore. As far as Starfleet is concerned, he was not in his right mind at the time of the assault due to the past trauma. What I was referring to was," Forrest lowered his voice. "The experts tell me he needs security, comfort now. And even then, he may have episodes like what happened on Montelosa until he recovers. That's not going to be easy on you or the crew."

"Don't worry about us, sir. We can handle it," Archer said quickly as Porthos jumped up and placed his front paws on his master's knee.

"Well, then, give the commander my best. And assure him his record is not marred by this." Forrest sighed. "Nor his character."

"I will, sir."

Archer sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. No, it wasn't going to be easy. He knew that. But what occupied his mind at the moment was just how much one person could hide from others...and themselves.

Porthos whimpered, nudging an elbow with his snout. Scratching the dog behind the ears, Archer shook off his thought. It was hitting too close to home and he was not prepared to deal with it at the moment. He had a few other communications to make.

* * *

Trip sat propped up in bed, staring at his claws, slowly turning them over. He had only been awake about fifteen minutes this time, yet he was quite aware that pain was to be a constant for awhile. But he deserved it, he thought. He had wrapped his fingers around that poor man's throat and tried to choke the life out of him. If those four Montelosian waiters hadn't pulled him off, that man would be dead now. Pain was a small price to pay for making that child witness his father being attacked. Yes, he deserved it.

The sickbay doors opened and Jonathan Archer entered. Trip shot a glance at him, but quickly shifted his gaze back down at his bandaged hands.

Archer looked over at the biobed, but when Trip disregarded him he moved to Phlox, who was busy viewing data on a terminal.

"He said anything?"

"Not a word. I asked him if he wanted to sit up and he sat up," Phlox responded, shrugging his shoulders.

Archer sighed and moved to Trip, with Phlox close behind.

"I thought you might like to know I contacted Robann again." Archer said.

Trip shrugged his shoulders slightly, but did not look up.

"He told me that the Montelosians use a quick sharp slap in the face to get the attention of their misbehaving children." Archer continued. "Then, they talk to them. But they never use any other form of physical reprimands on their children. In fact, Robann was heartsick when I told him what prompted your reaction in the diner."

"So all's forgiven," Trip said bitingly. "Guess neither of us can take any of it back, though."

Archer looked to Phlox, but there were no answers here to deal with what Trip was going through. Not yet, anyway.

"How long has he got to stay here, Doc?" Archer asked, changing the direction of the conversation only slightly.

"The commander is still going to be a little groggy for a few more hours, but he doesn't need to stay in sickbay." Phlox offered.

Archer shot a stunned look to Phlox while Trip remained with his eyes downcast.

"He can leave here?" Archer asked.

"Yes," Phlox confirmed. "I will have to assign a medic to aid him with his personal needs, but..."

"Hell no!" Trip glared now at Phlox.

"Commander," Phlox continued, undaunted. "You are not capable of taking care of yourself."

"I'm not havin' some nursemaid movin' in to my quarters..."

"He can bunk with me." Archer quietly cut Trip off.

"Well then," Phlox smiled as he moved off, adding, "I'll finish my report and you can be on your way."

There was an awkward silence as Trip slowly lifted his head and stared at Jon. Their eyes locked and no more words were necessary.


	4. Chapter 4

Phlox had no sooner released Commander Tucker to Captain Archer when Ensign Sato came with the information from Starfleet Medical regarding the recommended treatment for the commander's condition.

The doctor reviewed the data and deduced it would take collective efforts by the senior bridge staff to aid in Mr. Tucker's recovery from his past trauma. Even he knew the key person would not be himself as the physician. It would be the one person aboard this ship who had just taken on the most difficult task of caring for the injured man.

Could this volunteering to take care of Tucker's personal needs for the next week be the beginning of the healing process? Or could the captain, finally for once, have taken on more than he could handle?

"I will have to monitor them both closely," Phlox thought outloud.

* * *

The walk from sickbay to Trip's quarters had been uneventful. Neither Jon nor Trip had said a word and the crew they passed simply nodded to them in respect.

Once inside, Jon gathered Trip's personal items and some casual clothing. Trip leaned against the wall to the side of the door not offering any input on what to pack. Jon knew there was no point in asking Trip. The younger man was sulking and his best friend knew better than to try and talk him out of it.

The two had made their way to the captain's quarters. The door slid open and Trip followed Jon inside.

The room was oddly still. There were no padded footsteps or panting. Trip looked around on the floor.

"I had Hoshi take Porthos for a while," Jon said, as he made his way into the bathroom to put Trip's toiletries away.

"Why?" Trip's voice was flat and unemotional.

"You know Porthos. He'd be jumping all over you and me wondering what was going on." Jon came out and moved to the closet to hang up Trip's clothes.

Trip sat on the bed and stared at the floor. His thoughts were all mixed up. This was all so screwed up. How could he have freaked out from something that happened when he was a little boy? He was a fairly rational adult. How could he be so emotionally unstable?

"You hungry?"

Trip looked up to see Jon standing in front of him. Shrugging his shoulders, Trip looked away.

"It's dinner time," Jon coaxed. "Phlox said you hardly ate your lunch."

"Yeah," Trip mumbled. "The doc was tryin' to feed me at the same time he was feedin' his bat. I think his bat got some mac n' cheese and whatever I got had teeny little legs."

Jon smiled, moving to the com. "Tonight's enchiladas. Chicken, no legs."

Trip laid back on the bed, placing an arm across his eyes. He heard Jon order one dinner to be sent up.

"What about you?" Trip asked, not budging from his position.

"I ate already." Jon moved to sit next to Trip on the bed. "You tired?"

"Yeah," Trip answered. "Guess it's the drugs."

"Well, then let's get you ready for bed while we wait on dinner."

There was silence. Trip remained still. Jon leaned down to see if he had fallen asleep.

"Why are ya doin' this?" Trip mumbled.

"What?" Jon asked, thrown off guard.

"Babysittin' me. Why?"

Jon sighed, clasping his hands before him. "Because you need someone to take care...to help you with your personal needs for a little while. I thought it'd be easier on you if it were someone you knew."

"Easier on me?"

"Yeah," Jon shook his head. "So, is that okay with you? I guess I didn't bother to ask you first. But if you'd rather have Phlox feed you somemore grubworms..."

"What about you?"

"Trip, what are you getting at?" Jon asked, annoyed. No matter how much he wanted to help Trip, he wasn't in the mood for playing innuendo games.

"I know you, remember? This ain't gonna be easy on you." Trip said, flatly.

The door chime interrupted the moment and Jon slowly rose from the bed and answered the door. It was the steward with dinner and the captain accepted it at the door. He placed the tray on his desk, pulling out the chair. Glancing over at Trip, he moved across the room and got another chair and placed it next to other and sat down.

"Come and get it." Jon called to Trip.

Trip drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pulled himself up and made his way to the desk. Without making eye contact with Jon, he sat down in the empty chair and stared at the food. His mouth watered slightly as he smelled the spicy red sauce in the steam rising from the enchiladas. He was pretty hungry and wished he could just dig right in.

Jon took the cloth napkin and tucked it in the the neck of Trip's shirt. Next, he cut into the enchilada with the fork, scooping up the piece. After blowing on it, as he cupped his other hand under the fork, he held it up to Trip's mouth.

Trip reluctantly leaned in and took the food. But it was very good and he was so hungry he just about swallowed the mouthful whole.

"Chew your food." Jon warned. "That's all we both need is for you to end up with a belly ache."

Trip answered that remark by simply opening his mouth awaiting another forkful. Jon continued to feed him, with a bit of spanish rice, then enchilada and iced tea. It went well, except for some of the rice bouts that ended up sprinkling onto Trip's lap.

When the meal was gone, Jon pulled the bedspread and sheets down and then moved into the bathroom. Trip, however, remained at the desk.

"Let's get a move on, Trip." Jon called out from the bathroom. "You were fighting to keep awake during dinner. It's bedtime."

Trip slowly moved into the bathroom doorway. Jon had Trip's toothbrush in hand. Trip looked up at Jon with heavy eyelids, then moved next to the sink.

"Open." Jon ordered.

As Jon brushed his teeth, Trip thought how good the older man was at taking care of someone. What a waste, Trip thought, that Jon never had kids. Since he was an only child, never having nieces or nephews for that matter. Jon could've taught his Uncle Chris a thing or two.

When Trip had finished rinsing, he felt the urge he was dreading all evening. Damn! He looked down at the toilet, moving in front of it. As a knot began to form in the pit of his stomach, he knew there was no way he could ever do it by himself. Sure, he could try it sitting down, but he still needed to have positioning. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. God, how he hated Uncle Chris!

Jon finished cleaning up the sink and turned to see Trip staring down at the toilet.

"Iced tea, huh?" Jon gently asked, as he moved behind Trip.

Trip sniffed back his tears and nodded. He felt Jon's hands on his waist and he began to pull away.

"Hey, hey," Jon whispered in his ear. "It's okay. Just lean your head back on my shoulder and relax."

The tears were falling freely now, and Trip coughed slightly. But, he did as Jon told him. Gently, Jon's thumbs slid into the waistband of Trip's sweats and underpants. With a slight downward tug the sweats and briefs slid down his legs and around his ankles. He let out a startled groan that sounded a little like, "no".

"Shhhh," Jon soothingly whispered in his ear again. "It's all right."

Trip shivered as the cool air hit him below the waist. Then, he felt the hands carefully take hold of his shaft. His ears were pounding again, so he couldn't really hear exactly what Jon was saying. He could make out "breathe" and "relax", so he took deep breaths and tried to relax. He shifted his weight as his knees began to feel shakey. Soon, his ears opened and he heard the steady stream in the toilet.

As he choked back the sobs, Jon finished pulling his underpants up. Trip stepped out of his sweats, as Jon knew he slept only in his underwear. But before Jon could straighten up to remove Trip's shirt, the latter darted out of the bathroom.

Jon washed his hands hurriedly and followed after Trip into the other room. He saw Trip curled up on the bed with his back to the room. His body jerked with each sob, and Jon sat on the edge of the bed and began to rub Trip's back with the palm of his hand.

After a few minutes, Jon got up and pulled the blanket and sheet over Trip. No, this wasn't going to be easy on any of them, most of all Trip.


	5. Chapter 5

—The little boy came bursting through the screen door and onto the porch of the farmhouse. His chest heaved with his huffing and puffing, but it wasn't from exhaustion. It was from fear.

The hard, booted footsteps from inside the house rang in his ears. He's coming after me this time, the boy thought. His blue eyes misted, but he fought back the tears. He was 10 years old and too big to cry from being afraid. He had to think quickly. He couldn't outrun the older man, he knew that. Even though he was liquored up, his uncle could still catch him. The barn.

The boy leapt off the porch and headed for the barn, running as fast as his shaking legs could carry him. Why couldn't he control his knees? They always started to shake and feel rubbery when he was scared.

Once inside the barn, he dove into a pile of hay stacked in a corner and buried himself. He lay there, still as he could, stifling a cough from the dryness in the back of his throat.

The barn door banged loudly as it was flung open. The boy froze. Why was he doing this? He never came after him before. Why couldn't he just leave him alone? Why...

Suddenly, without warning he was grabbed by the waistband of his jeans and pulled roughly out of the hay!—

"No!" Trip gasped, sitting straight up in bed. Jon, asleep on a cot across the room, jumped up and was sitting next to him before Trip's head cleared and he realized where he was.

"It's okay," Jon was saying. "Take it easy."

Trip could feel the sweat on his face and he was breathing heavily. His eyes were misting and he silently cursed himself. His dry throat was intense and he coughed, licking his lips.

Jon rose and moved into the bathroom. He flipped on the light and left it on as he returned with a glass of water. He cradled Trip's head so he could drink. Once Trip had laid back down, Jon put the glass on the shelf and looked down at him.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Just a bad dream's all." Trip shrugged, looking off into the darkened room.

Jon wished his friend wouldn't do that. Trip avoided any direct questions about unpleasant things. He had always done that, for as long as Jon had known him. In the past the brush off would've been accepted.

"Might make you feel better." Jon pushed.

Trip let out a breathy snort. "Feelin' better's not in my near future, Jon. Or haven't ya been payin' attention? Hell, I'm dealin' with the results of a 20 year old nightmare for the next week." Trip raised his hands up for emphasis. "I can't even take a piss without being reminded of what that bastard did to me..." The tears started to fall down the sides of his face and onto the pillow.

Jon sighed sympathetically. "But we got through it, didn't we?"

"Yeah, well," Trip wiped his face with the back of a clawed hand. "It was more like gettin' past it. Jon, I really appreciate everythin' you're doin' for me. I do. And no matter how long I live, I'd never be able to tell ya in words." His voice was starting to crack.

"You don't have to..."

"Wait," Trip raised his voice slightly. "Let me finish, 'cuz I don't know if I will if I stop to think about it." He drew in a shakey breath and blew it out through expanded cheeks. "It wasn't just that you had to help me in there. It was what I started to remember. Why I was runnin' away from him that time. I was in my room, gettin' ready to go to the swimmin' hole to meet some boys. I was gonna change into my cutoffs when I turned and saw him standin' in the doorway. He was starin' at me. I started to close the door and he grabbed it and pushed it back open..."

—"I'll help ya change, Charlie."

The little boy looked up at his uncle, not sure why he was feeling very scared. The man slowly stalked into the room. Charlie backed up only to be stopped by bumping into the bed. He ended up sitting at the edge of the bed.

"It's okay, Uncle Chris." The boy's voice quivered.

"Naw," The man shook his head. "I ain't been payin' attention to ya like I should."

Before Charlie realized what was happening, Uncle Chris' big hands were on his belt, undoing the buckle.

"No!" Charlie yelled, trying to wriggle free from the man's grip.

"Sit still, boy!" There was anger in his voice.

The boy could smell the alcohol on his uncle. Not just his breath, but coming out of his skin. The man got the belt unfastened and was starting to unbutton the pants.

"Leave me alone!" Charlie yelled, twisting his body. He didn't want to hurt Uncle Chris, but he also didn't like what he was doing to him.

"Come on, Charlie-boy, I just wanna pay a little attention to ya."

The laugh that followed sent a chill throughout the little boy's body. He knew this was not right. Uncle Chris was stinkin' drunk and he never remembered what he did when he was this bad off. Charlie knew he had to get away.

"Stop it," Charlie screamed, balling his fists up and pounding his uncle in the chest.

"Knock it off, you little shit!" Uncle Chris spit on him as he yelled. Then, he took one huge hand and grabbed both of little Charlie's hands in a tight grip. With the other hand the man continued to try and unzip the boy's jeans.

Charlie was near tears now, but he knew he had to keep his head. He had no other options now and he was not liking what he had to do. But Uncle Chris gave him no other choice. As soon as the toes of Charlie's boots connected with the man's groin, there was a wail the likes of which the boy had never heard before. The man released his holds and backed up as the boy barreled into him and ran out of the room.—

Trip had rolled over on his side, facing Jon, but staring at the floor. Jon just looked down at his friend in disbelief.

"I didn't know what he was gonna do, but I was scared." Trip said. "And even now, I'm not sure. Guess I just reacted out of fear, like I did in the diner on Montelosa."

"Kids are intuitive, Trip. I'd say if a 10 year old child feels a situation with a trusted adult is scary," Jon shook his head. "I don't know if this'll help any, but I think you must have been a tough little guy even back then."

Trip rolled onto his back and looked up at Jon. How does he do it? Jon's faith and support were unwavering. Nothing Trip had done in the past had changed that. Not when he exercised poor judgement in dealing with an alien culture and got pregnant during a three day diplomatic mission. Not when his anxiety got the better of him and he panicked when they were fusing with that alien jelly fish. Not when his body gave out on that desert planet and he nearly got both of them killed because of his weakness.

"Why do you bother?" Trip mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm nothin' but trouble. Especially to you, Jon. Why do ya keep comin' back for more?"

Jon let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The guy just didn't get it. He really didn't get it at all. "I can't believe you have to ask. You really don't know?"

"Come on, Jon. I'm hot-headed, damn smart-mouthed..."

"You said it yourself, Trip." Jon explained. "Words just can't say it all sometimes. Showing someone how you feel about them is the only way. Fair enough?"

Trip nodded, embarrassed at having his own feelings thrown back at him. He yawned.

"You've got a lot of demons to exercise, Trip." Jon said, standing. He bent over and pulled the covers up. "But you don't have to do it alone."

"I know," Trip answered. "That's why it hurts so. I drag ya down with me..."

"No," Jon snapped. "Don't do that. Don't think that I'm ever hurt by you or by what happens to you. When I'm hurting where you're concerned, it's because of me. I chose to make you important in my life, Trip, and with that comes care and concern. It's all part of it and I'm willing to risk that. Are we clear?"

Trip nodded. Jon moved to shut off the bathroom light and then slid under the blankets on the cot. There was a brief silence then Jon heard the faint, muffled sounds of Trip sobbing into his pillow. Jon pulled the covers up tightly, more for comfort than warmth. There were definitely more demons Trip wrestled with and Jon was sure even his friend wasn't fully aware of all of them. But he was sure of one thing; he would find them all out and free that tortured soul. He had too, because he needed Trip to realize just how much he meant to him. And then, maybe, Jon could exercise the demon he had carried with him since the first day he met Charles Tucker III.


	6. Chapter 6

Trip's eyes squinted open from sleep and then closed again. He could hear hushed voices by the door.

"I just wanted to pay my respects, sir." It was Malcolm out in the hall.

"He hasn't passed on, Malcolm." Jon said, angrily, "He's just ailing."

"I'm sorry, sir. I...I didn't mean..." Malcolm stuttered.

"No, no," Jon shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's been a long night. As soon as I get some breakfast into him," Jon whispered. "We'll be headed to sickbay for a check in with Phlox."

"Do you think it would be all right if I stopped by this evening? After I get off my shift?"

"I think you'd better buzz first, Malcolm." Jon suggested. "Trip's been on a pretty fast roller coaster since all this started. It's one moment at a time."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Trip heard the door close and opened his eyes to see Jon standing by the desk, dressed only in his Starfleet blue t-shirt and briefs. Two trays sat atop the desk; one had leftover morsels of breakfast and the other was filled with food.

"Morning." Jon said as he turned to see Trip awake. "Chef made a special breakfast for you."

Trip swung his legs over the side of the bed and got up. He brushed past Jon and moved off into the bathroom, kicking the door closed with his foot.

Jon stared at the door. What was he up to? He waited for a few minutes, listening intently. There was a frustrated growl from the other side of the bathroom door and Jon moved to it. He placed his ear on the door in time to hear another frustrated growl. This time a pained moan followed. Jon shook his head and opened the door.

Trip was standing by the toilet, trying to push his underpants down with his bandaged claws. There was no appearance of success.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked.

"Just leave me alone," Trip warned. "Let me try this on my own."

"Trip," Jon started.

"No!" Trip yelled, the veins in his neck bulging.

Jon knew this outburst from Trip was desperation more than determination. Ignoring the warning, he moved into the bathroom and towards Trip, who stood rigid and breathing heavily. Jon stared into Trip's eyes, cautiously, as he gently reached for the waistband of his friend's briefs. There was no resistance from Trip. Just wounded resignation in the form of gritted teeth and flaring nostrils. Jon rose after lowering Trip's underpants and slowly made his way out the door, closing it without a glance back.

Trip sat down, resting his forearms on his thighs and lowering his head. Degraded, humiliated, angered; the feelings were cascading down around him and he couldn't decide which one was greater. But, either one or all, he couldn't let them take over. He fought back the tears that welled up in his eyes. He wasn't 10 year old Charlie Tucker, crying in the bathroom at his uncle's farm house. He couldn't let Uncle Chris keep hurting him. He wouldn't.

* * *

Jon sat at his terminal, reviewing the graveyard shift's reports. Nothing out of the ordinary. Not there, anyway.

He sat back, rubbing his chin and scratching the stubble on his face. He just didn't know what was right or wrong about this situation. Every time he and Trip got over a hurdle, there was another one bigger than the last. In the past, hard times and dire situations had strengthened their friendship. But he was now certain that what was happening within these walls would either solidify or nullify it.

Jon rose and moved to the bathroom door, leaning closely to it. "Trip?" No response. "I'm coming in."

* * *

T'Pol sat in the command chair, staring straight ahead. Captain Archer was to be off duty for the next few days while he tended to Commander Tucker. He was, of course, well informed of all happenings on Enterprise and the bridge specifically. But he was not to be disturbed unless it was urgent. The matter of taking care of the commander was of the utmost importance. His full recovery was necessary to the continuance of this mission and, from what she had been told, the course of treatment was delicate.

Human emotions subject them to much distress and physical pain, T'Pol thought. Yet, even she had to concede that the species were driven by those emotions to succeed. However, when failure resulted, for whatever reason, pain was usually the result. Logically, there would be less chance of painful incidents if they abandoned the risky emotions. Incidents like the one Commander Tucker was going through.

T'Pol shifted in the chair, her eyes sweeping Lieutenant Reed's station. She returned her attention toward him and found he was staring at her. She expected him to speak, but he only nodded to her and returned to manning his controls.

* * *

Trip had, again, bolted from the bathroom once Jon had raised his briefs. Jon dried his hands on a towel and wiped up the sink. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and saw a tired, disheveled face with tosseled hair. What the hell had he been thinking to take this on? Was he mad? Was there nothing left between he and Trip now?

CRASH!

Jon turned and ran in to the living area of his quarters. He stood in the middle of the room, staring in disbelief.

Jon's empty tray and its' contents were strewn on the floor. Trip was sitting at the desk with his face buried in the plate of scrambled egg mixture that chef had prepared for him. He dug in, gobbling up what food he didn't spray out in all directions.

Jon just watched him, not attempting to stop the angry, defiant display. His heart went out to Trip. He knew it had to be so hard to endure being cared for in this way. He wondered if his seemingly selfless offer to take care of Trip was doing his friend more harm than good.

Trip raised his head, snorting away some of the egg stuck to his face. Jon moved up, looking down at his friend. There were bits of egg, bell pepper, onions all stuck into the tufts of blond hair on Trip's chest. He reached for Trip's arm and gave it a gentle tug. Dutifully, Trip rose and followed Jon into the bathroom.

Jon retrieved the plastic protective bags that Phlox had given him and placed them over the bandages on Trip's hands. Trip looked every where else but at Jon.

When he finished securing the baggies, Jon removed his t-shirt and then hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down. He stepped out of them, tossing them in a heap on the floor by the sink. He turned to Trip and repeated the same with his briefs. For a split second Jon's mind and eyes wandered over his friend's body. All the previous intimate moments they had shared between them were strictly caring for the other. He had not let his mind wander to marvel at the body that was before him. Perhaps now, that he himself was naked in front of Trip, his demon was rising. Jon turned and headed for the shower, hoping his flushed face was not noticeable. He stepped inside and Trip followed.

The water was warm and soothing. Jon decided it was best to take turns washing himself and then Trip. Quickly, but thoroughly, he lathered up his hands and began to rub his chest and stomach. Trip stood to the side, head down. Next, Jon lathered up his hands and moved to Trip. He began to wash Trip's chest and pick the food particles out of the hair there. Still, Trip looked away and would not allow any eye contact.

Jon turned his back to Trip and began to wash his groin. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable as his organ began to stir. He was too old for this, he thought. College kids experimented with their sexuality. Not starship captains. From the first time he laid eyes on Trip there was something about him that Jon couldn't put his finger on. Something that made Jon protective of the younger man. He had thought, in sickbay, that it was because he never had a younger brother. That was what he had thought. But, maybe that wasn't it at all.

"Turn around," Jon said, not looking at Trip. He heard the sloshing of Trip's feet on the shower floor and then turned around. He saw Trip's strong muscular back. Hopefully, he could wash Trip here first and he would settle down some.

Trip closed his eyes and hung his head, letting Jon's hands roam the back of his neck and down his shoulders. It felt good. The sensation was so calming. The hands moved across and down to the lower back. There was a slight withdrawal of touch and then he felt Jon's hands cupping his backside, one cheek at a time and instinctively Trip clenched his muscles there. He inhaled and then let out a long breath as he realized he was feeling strange. He opened his eyes and looked down at his cock. Geez! This ain't right, he thought. But, there it was, his cock growin' like ole Pinocchio's nose.

Jon was bending down, washing Trip's legs, when suddenly his charge turned around.

"What in the hell's goin' on?" Trip asked, his voice shaking.

Jon looked up now looking smack dab at Trip's erect cock. Shocked, he looked up at Trip and saw his best friend staring down at his crotch. Jon followed the gaze and saw that his own organ was still at attention. What was going on here? This could only make things worse for Trip and his recovery. Damn, for their friendship and this mission for that matter.

"Jon?" Trip asked, his voice sounding like a scared little boy. "What..." His voice cracked and broke off and he just looked at Jon for an answer.

"I don't know, Trip," Jon shook his head. "God, I don't know."


	7. Chapter 7

Doctor Phlox went about sickbay feeding his creatures their breakfast. He wasn't particularly involved in any pressing experiment. He was just waiting for Captain Archer and Commander Tucker to show up so he could scan the commander's hands. Also, he had some information on treating the emotional injuries plaguing Mr. Tucker that he needed to fill the captain in on.

He was not a psychologist, but Phlox knew he had a rapport with these humans, and even a certain vulcan, that worked favorably when they needed counseling. He was confident that he could help the captain to help the commander through this difficult time.

As he completed the rounds of feeding time, he paused and wondered what was keeping the two senior officers. Maybe they were having difficulites adjusting to their new relationship.

* * *

The water beat down on their bodies, splashing water periodically in their eyes. But still they held their gazes locked on each other's eyes.

Jon walked forward, hesitantly, and stopped when Trip backed up shivering slightly.

"Are you scared?" Jon asked quietly.

"I...I don't know." Trip shrugged his shoulders. "I think so."

"Of me?"

"No," Trip shook his head. "I...I'm not sure."

"You know I'd never hurt you."

"I know, I know." Trip hung his head down. "Maybe it's me. I don't understand what's happening."

"Neither do I." Liar, Jon cursed himself as he turned and grabbed the shampoo bottle. He faced Trip again with hands full of shampoo and Trip bent his head forward.

As Jon washed Trip's hair, he massaged his scalp. Trip trusted this man with his life, so why was he suddenly afraid? Because they both had been aroused by being naked together in a close confining shower? Emotionally they had both been through the ringer and being drained like that could account for their reactions, couldn't it?

Jon finished with Trip's hair and wet his own while Trip moved under the stream of water to rinse off. Jon washed his own hair quickly and rinsed. He shut the water off and opened the shower door to let Trip out first.

As he began to dry Trip off, he noticed that Trip's erection was starting to subside. His own had, somewhat, earlier. He dried himself off and the two moved out in to the living area.

Jon retrieved two clean pair of briefs from a drawer and slipped one on. He moved to Trip, who stood looking at the mess on the floor as well as the desk. Trip lifted one foot, then the other as Jon pulled the briefs up.

"I'm sorry about the mess." Trip said, looking pitifully miserable.

"It's okay," Jon smiled at him. "I'll have it cleaned up before we get back from..."

"No," Trip interrupted. "This whole mess. What I did on Montelosa, for what's happening here..." Tears started to well up in his eyes and he wiped them away with his forearm.

"None of this is your fault, Trip." Jon's voice was strained. "Your uncle started it a long time ago. And now, when I thought I was doing this to help you..." Jon turned and leaned on the desk, trying to keep his composure.

"What're ya talkin' about?" Trip stared, confusion all over his face.

Jon straigtened up and turned to face Trip. God, he was beautiful. His body, his face, the whole man. Inside he was sensitive, loyal, hurting...and about to be hurt even more.

"Trip, you've been wounded by betrayl from a man you trust and, I think, love."

"He's dead now." Trip turned his head away. "That's history."

"I wasn't talking about your uncle." Jon said quietly.

Trip's head came up slowly and he looked at Jon's face. "Wh...what'd ya say?"

"I guess I never really realized it until now." Jon confessed, his voice edgy. "I've always cared about you, Trip. You're the best friend I've ever had. The times we've had together, goofing off and just being ourselves, have been the best. I never thought...let myself think that what I felt for you was anything but friendship. Love? Yes, without a doubt."

Trip started to back up, shaking his head. "No, don't. Please don't say anymore."

"I'm sorry," Jon continued. "You know I don't want to hurt you, but I have to get this out. The love of friendship is nothing to be ashamed of. I've never denied myself that. And I don't think you have either."

Trip had backed up enough to sit on the bed. "No," he said quietly. "I love you, Jon. I do."

"Then hear me out." Jon was pleading now. When there was no insistence to stop, he went on. "I've never felt...Geez, Trip, I've never felt this way towards anyone else, ever. Certainly not another man. I want to be your protector, your friend...your..."

Trip swallowed hard, waiting for what he knew was coming. Say it, Jon. Damn it, just say it and get it over with.

"...lover."

Trip wrapped his arms around his stomach and began to rock slightly. He wasn't so much afraid now, as he was lonely. He'd just lost his best friend, his buddy, his pal. It would never be the same. He felt the touch, warm and gentle. The hand on his shoulder stayed there, not intruding any further. Trip couldn't believe it. Here he had thought that he was the only one who had unexplained feelings about the other. Feelings that had remained unexplained until Jon had spoken the words out loud. He'd never felt anything like them towards another man before, either.

Jon looked down at his friend. What was he thinking? Was he repulsed, disgusted? Did he hate him for what he was feeling? Maybe not, since he hadn't pulled away from his touch. He would do anything not to hurt this man that he now knew he loved more than anything. And if that meant becoming distant, then so be it.

"Hold me," Trip whispered.

Jon was startled. Unsure, he sat down on the bed next to Trip and put his arm around him, awkwardly.

"No," Trip strained with emotion. "Hold me, please?" He turned, placing his head on Jon's shoulder.

Jon wrapped his other arm around Trip now and held him tightly, as the younger man began sobbing uncontrollably.

"I...I don't want to...lose you," Trip cried.

"You're not going to lose me," Jon hugged him tighter. "What do you mean?"

"I think...I feel the same way..." Trip coughed. "I don't know...I just know it's all gonna change now..."

"We don't have to lose anything, Trip." Jon reassured.

"Yes!" Trip was becoming hysterical. "We will! I know it!"

Jon placed his lips on top of Trip's head and planted a tender kiss there. Trip's tense body seemed to melt into Jon's arms. He leaned slightly forward and kissed Trip, again, on the forehead this time. Trip started to calm down some.

"It'll be okay," Jon began to rock Trip. "Don't worry. We'll take it slow. You're still dealing with the past. I didn't want to add to your pain, Trip. When this is all over we can talk about us. I better get Phlox to assign a medic to you now."

Trip shifted out of Jon's arms and lifted his feet up on the bed while sliding his head down onto Jon's lap. Trip curled his arms close to his chest.

"Don't leave me," Trip pleaded. "I don't want anyone else takin' care of me."

Jon rubbed Trip's cheek with the back of his hand. "If you're sure."

"The only thing I'm sure of is that I need you; now more than ever." Trip sniffed.

"Sickbay to Captain Archer." Phlox's voice came across the com.

Jon gently placed Trip's head on the bed and moved to the com panel. "Archer here."

"I was wondering if you'd overslept. I need to examine Mr. Tucker's hands and, perhaps, change the bandages." Phlox said.

"Give us another thirty minutes," Jon strained to say.

"Thirty minutes it is, Captain," Phlox replied, then added, "Is everything all right?"

Jon glanced over at Trip, who had stopped crying and was looking up at him. Was everything all right? No. He couldn't really hold Trip to anything he was saying or feeling at the moment. Admiral Forrest had said Trip needed comfort and security now. It could be that what he was feeling wasn't what Jon was feeling. There was a lot to work through, for both of them. But after all they'd been through, they could do it. They would do it. Jon had to believe that.

"We're working on it, Doc. We're working on it. Archer out."


End file.
